


Spring

by Kmrjo



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Spoilery for Series 5, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kmrjo/pseuds/Kmrjo
Summary: Just a little angsty/hurt/comfort to celebrate Shaun Evans’ birthday today!





	Spring

The spring had been lovely and temperate and that was not just the weather. Endeavour Morse had been feeling warm and almost centered for a few weeks. Regular sex probably did that, but to him Claudine was something a bit more than a handy shag. He wished she’d see it that way too but her worldly viewpoint didn’t equate sex with anything more than a bit of fun. Of course, it didn’t matter anyway, she was gone now. She’d gotten assigned back to Paris where a growing displeasure amongst university students and working-class citizens was on the rise. She was excited and intrigued by the student unrest and couldn’t wait to capture it all on film and Morse knew he couldn’t really compete with the excitement of Parisian society crumbling.

That had been two weeks ago and the news from France was alarming. The news from most everywhere was alarming. 1968 was turning into one unruly fray after another with students and differing ethnic groups clashing in the streets with the police and sometimes the military across Europe and America. He fretted about Claudine’s safety and the old tense ache in his belly returned. Just the thought of her petit frame anywhere near the rock and bottle throwing and the volleys of tear gas made him nauseous. 

Of course, living with Jim Strange was not helping his stress level any either. The ghastly Cribbage tournaments and the regular jam sessions with his trombone were shredding Morse’s last nerve. He checked his coffers diligently and watched the paper for any kind of cheap bedsit hoping for reprieve.

It didn’t help that the cases had turned particularly dark of late with enough blood and gore and human depravity to fill the pits of hell. It seemed that way at least. Young George Fancy was turning out to be a handful in the midst of the complicated twists and turns of two different murder investigations and Morse barely held himself back from ripping the kid a new one at least twice a day. Is this what Thursday had to put up with when he’d started? Some youngster haring off on a whim, nearly endangering himself and sometimes the cases too? Morse couldn’t really credit the thought. He at least knew what he was doing.

It wasn’t long before Morse started haunting the pubs often staying until closing night after night. Jim had of course noticed Morse’s absences but chalked it up to his mate’s rekindled interest in the city’s bird population. Morse wandered the streets until all hours sometimes barely making it back to the flat in time to catch a couple of hours sleep. Inevitably seven o’clock would roll around and Strange would fill the flat with blaring pop music on the radio and the greasy smell of a breakfast fry up, both of which never failed to turn Morse’s stomach.

Everything was different in his life but really just the same. He was alone again, and it wasn’t getting any better. He was back to shunning his workmates, avoiding social niceties like the weekly pub quiz and begging off choir practice. He wasn’t in the mood to sing about anything right now. He couldn’t even enjoy his records. Just knowing someone else was in the flat gnawed at him and ruined his full immersion in the pieces.

Morse reverting to form didn’t go unnoticed at the station either. Fred Thursday noted people had begun tip-toeing around Morse’s desk and speaking in quieter tones when he was about. He could see the lad was losing weight again and fidgeted unmercifully around the office, a hare trigger ready to go off. 

~*~

By that Friday evening Morse was done in. He’d been burning the candle at both ends all week and still stewing that he couldn’t light the damn thing in the middle as well. He decided he’d drive Thursday home and for once head straight home to curl up and sleep in his tiny bedroom. As they pulled up to the house Thursday gestured toward the door.

“Come in for a drink Morse? Win’s been asking after you and I haven’t seen enough of you lately to give her a good lie.”

“Actually Sir, I’d just as soon head home,” Morse said quietly. 

“I know it’s been a hell of a week. Just come in for a few minutes, make her happy, eh?”

Morse sighed, “Yes, alright.” It was easier to just agree and get it over with than keep up the fight. He’d have one for the road, as it were, then be off.

Morse dragged himself out of the Jag stopping long enough to stretch out his back in the middle of the street. Thursday watched in bemused silence. “Shake a leg Morse,” he called over his shoulder as he headed up the walk.

Inside Thursday ushered Morse into the dining room and poured them each a Scotch. He knew enough not to bother with the Sherry. They sat at the table just as Mrs. Thursday bustled into the room.

“Morse dear! How have you been? Fred says you’ve been run ragged the last fortnight. You do look a bit flushed, are you feeling alright?” She had just enough wherewithal to stop her hand moving to his forehead and redirected her energy to getting out the china for dinner. “You’ll stay for a bite, then, alright? You and Fred have a nice chat while I finish up a few things in the kitchen.” And she was off. 

Morse looked after her for a moment then turned to her husband with a look of mild bewilderment.

“That’s my Win. Never say never to that woman,” Fred chuckled.

Morse didn’t have time to comment as Win descended on them with plates of pot roast, potatoes and various side dishes seemingly enough for a family holiday dinner. He ate sparingly and kindly declined seconds hoping to head out the door at the first opportunity. Win gathered up their plates afterward and closed the door on her way out. Morse noticed it was the first time she’d done that all evening but Thursday brought up a point about the Roger’s case and Morse couldn’t help but pick it apart for the next few minutes. There was a draft of cool air creeping under the door and some sort of muffled hubbub in the hall, but Fred stuck to his opinion which goaded Morse into taking a different tack explaining his own theory. 

Then the dining room door was pushed open and the lights went out. Morse jumped in his seat and turned to see Mrs. Thursday carrying in a cake lit with candles and moving to set it down in front of him. The sight stunned him as he nearly doubled over feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. The cake roared with fire and just as the first strains of “Happy Birthday” floated in from the hall he was on his feet and brushing past Mrs. Thursday out the door. He was confronted with a collection of work mates happily singing and congratulating him as he pushed through them. His heart was in his throat and it took all his concentration to keep his shaking knees from giving way. When he could see no escape out the front door he turned left finding himself in Mrs. Thursday’s small kitchen. He stumbled into a corner and rested his forehead on the cool plaster as he wrapped his arms around himself trying to stop the tremors rippling through his frame.

He faintly heard Mrs. Thursday amongst the chattering crowd, “Yes alright! Just make your way into the dining room. Morse is just helping me with something in the kitchen. Won’t be a tick.”

There was a roaring in his ears that seemed to be getting louder as he felt his knees beginning to go. Then he was wrapped in warm sweatered arms, his head pillowed in soft brown hair and a melodic murmur began to penetrate the sickening din in his head. 

“Morse. Endeavour dear. What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

At the sound of his given name a sob escaped him as he grabbed onto Mrs. Thursday in desperation.

“Here love, sit down for a moment.” He was steered to a small bench still wrapped in Mrs. Thursday’s arms as she sat beside him, “Just rest a moment.” She rubbed his back as he fought to pull himself together shuddering in her grasp. Win looked up to see Fred in the doorway, his face tight with concern, but waved him off. She mouthed, “Serve the cake,” and Fred nodded and left.

When Endeavour had settled a few moments later he sat back tiredly and rubbed at his face. Mrs. Thursday handed him a tea towel. “I guess we did a good job of surprising you then.” She chuckled a little and took the cloth to the sink to wet it. She returned and gently wiped Morse’s face. “Tell me what’s wrong then?”

Morse couldn’t make eye contact but spoke softly, “Sorry. I…I didn’t expect anything. I’d actually forgotten it was my, uhm, birthday. The last time anyone ever did that,” he gestured toward the other room, “was my Mother when I was eleven. The next year she was too sickly to bake and we spent the day in her bedroom.” Win watched him ring his hands in his lap and reached out to still them, warming them with her own. “I’d never thought…I didn’t know anyone knew…” His voice trailed away as he continued looking at the floor.

“Morse, I’m sorry for upsetting you. Can you forgive me?”

Morse peaked up at Mrs. Thursday and nodded. “Yes, I mean no. There’s nothing to forgive. I’m just not used to…a, uhm… fuss.” His lips quirked up in a brief little smile and Win couldn’t help pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek. 

“You are worth more than a fuss to us dear. Now, do you think you can weather a big piece of chocolate cake with a few friends? I’m afraid Fred blew out the candles already, but you could still make a wish.”

“No, that’s alright Mrs. Thursday, I’m fine.” His smile reached his eyes this time and Mrs. Thursday smiled back.

“Happy Birthday dear Morse.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for any feedback :D


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